


the room is turning slowly (away from the moon)

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Trespasser DLC, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian on a ship, listening. </p><p>(Spoilers for the Trespasser DLC!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the room is turning slowly (away from the moon)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Byacolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/gifts).



> Cathartic drabble after Trespasser. I need to deal with the feelings somehow. 
> 
> For Byacolate, who streamed the whole thing for me. Twice.

“Not this time, amatus,” Dorian says and the look on Adaar’s face is enough to make him reconsider. Just for a heartbeat. As always, far too honest and too open for his own good. So completely unspoiled by years of political machinations and war and all the things any respectable Tevinter learns while still in the cradle. 

But he steels his heart, once more. And again later, when he thinks he has lost him. And then later still, when the last morning comes and he frees himself from a tangle of legs and arms. (Just one of those now - still new and unfamiliar.) 

One last goodbye at the docks. The usual hugs and tears and kisses. Adaar has never been shy about it and Dorian finds he does not mind the stares anymore either. Something in the back of his mind tells him that it’s progress but he shushes the pesky thought. Because if he thinks too much about the journey he took, it is difficult to see the way ahead. 

They give him his own cabin, a small thing below deck with just a bed, a desk and large wooden chest in one corner. Being the Inquisitor’s lover still comes with its advantages. Even if the title means nothing now and there are no scouts to accompany him to Tevinter this time. Discreet and quick passage with relative comfort still bears the mark of Adaar’s influence. 

Behind closed doors and far from prying eyes, he allows himself to mourn for the life he lost. Just a temporary separation, he tells himself. But it feels all too final when he wakes at night, chilled to the bone and his hands desperately searching for the familiar figure next to him. There is nothing but Adaar’s absence now to keep him company. 

It has been storming for two days and nights. The ship nothing more than a plaything of the waves and wind. There is no sleep to be had and he curls up underneath the thin covers like a child, clutching the crystal around his neck as if it were a lifeline. A big romantic gesture. A present he worked on for weeks. But now he feels almost shy using it, his voice thin and awkward in the empty silent room. 

“Amatus.” 

A single word and the stone warm and reassuring in his hand. 

His own heart is beating furiously in his ribcage. Blood rushing loudly in his ears. Listening into the silence with stupid silly hope sprouting in his chest, almost painfully. 

And then, steady as the hands that used to hold him and soft as lips he used to kiss, an answer. 

“I’m here.” 

 

Adaar uses the crystal like someone who is used to speaking through his hands and actions rather than his words. His voice is a soft trickle in the darkness and the privacy of Dorian’s cabin. Just a few sentences at first, but all of them so painfully earnest that Dorian has to shut his eyes sometimes, as if blinded by the sun. 

“I love you,” Adaar’s voice tells him. “I miss you.” 

In turn, Dorian fills the silence with tales about life on deck. He stares at the ceiling above and feels the ship swaying up and down on treacherous waves. But as long as he keeps talking, he does not have to consider the pitch-black depth below or the things awaiting him on the other end of the Waking Sea. At night, there is nothing but the darkness and the crystal in his palm and their voices.

Sometimes, Adaar reads poetry to him. Just a few lines here and there. He is more confident when he uses the words of other men and women, long dead and forgotten if it weren’t for their writing. In the steady cadence of Adaar's voice, they sprout to new life like flowers from the soil. 

_Somewhere on the other side of this wide night  
and the distance between us. I am thinking of you._

The hum of the crystal heavy against the hollow of Dorian's throat. And Adaar’s words like a caress he craves. He imagines a broad hand on his hip and thumb against his lips and an open mouth against the side of his neck. Even the thin blanket becomes too much to bear.

 

Sometimes, in the short hours before the night drips into grey, drips into morning, they talk about the future. Careful words riddled with “someday” and “maybe”. Sleepy enough to forget about the distance between them and the responsibilities ahead of them. 

“You will come to visit, won’t you?” he asks into the darkness. 

An answer, just a heartbeat later. “Of course. Nothing could keep me from you.”

He closes his eyes. “Naturally,” he says and means so much more. 

 

The sun sits low in the sky as the ship enters Cumberland’s harbor and Dorian grasps the railing tightly. The sight of the College’s golden dome catches his eye, bright like fire in the sunset. Not long now. Not long until he sets foot on solid ground and familiar streets. Every step taking him closer to his destination. Every step taking him farther from him. 

He lifts his hand and closes his fingers around the crystal, so used to its form by now. 

“Amatus,” he says.

A single word, sure and bold against the billowing sails above and the shouts of the sailors all around him. 

The answer comes just as the sun dips behind the mountaintops beyond the city and sets the clouds ablaze in pink and orange. 

“I’m here.”

And for now, it’s all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and the two lines of poetry come from Carol Ann Duffy's "Words, Wide Night".
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
